


Friends with Benefits

by offtheball



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 20:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/offtheball/pseuds/offtheball
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he's hiding at Molly's apartment, Sherlock is going crazy without a case. Sherlock and Molly decide that the best way to help each other would be to become friends with benefits, after watching the movie of the same name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends with Benefits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [savagealias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/savagealias/gifts).



Sherlock threw down the paper in frustration. "I'm bored!"

"You don't have your gun, do you?" Molly asked.

He reached into his pocket and retrieved it, throwing it on the table. "It's not loaded, because I can't go anywhere to get ammunition!" He stood and paced about. "This is so infuriating! I can't go anywhere, I can't do anything!"

Molly sighed. "You knew that ending your life would have consequences."

"I need a case!" He reached into his hair and pulled it. "God, I feel like my brain is boiling in here!"

"You can't solve cases. Who're you going to talk to? How're you going to interview witnesses, or investigate?" He just kept pacing. "Like it or not, Sherlock, you're stuck. You have to learn to live with it."

Sherlock had been sleeping on her lounge for three weeks now, and she'd grown somewhat less timid around him. Jesus, she'd walked in on the man showering. There was no mystery between them. The only difference between them and a married couple at this point was the complete lack of sex and romance.

"You don't understand, Molly. My brain is like a rocket-"

"You've recited this speech five times now," she reminded him. He scoffed and went back to pacing. She stood and crossed the room to him, putting her hands on his shoulder. "You need to calm down. You need a distraction."

"Exactly!" he bellowed. "I need a case!"

She sighed and dropped her hands. "Cases aren't the only things which distract."

"They're the only things that work for me."

"What about a movie?"

He shook his head. "Art only accelerates my mind. It's why I play the violin. It's stimulation. It propels me to deeper and more effective thought."

"I'm not talking art, I'm talking Hollywood."

He stopped and looked over at her, pity in his eyes. "Dear god, they've gotten to you."

She threw her hands up defensively. "Like it or not, it's distracting, and it doesn't require much thought. In fact most of it actively discourages thought."

He threw himself down on the lounge and crossed his arms. "Fine, what do you have?"

That was a good question. She'd hired a few movies the other night, but she'd watched most of them. She picked up the stack and flipped through, finding only one she hadn't seen. Her cheeks went bright red as she squeaked the title.

"Friends with Benefits?"

* * *

Sherlock sat through the entire movie, hands tented thoughtfully before him. His eyes darted over the characters. He didn't laugh, or really react in any way. Molly looked over at him from time to time, but he barely blinked.

The credits rolled and she turned off the telly. She turned to him. "So, how do you feel?"

Sherlock considered his response. "It was very thought-provoking."

She giggled, then saw he was serious. "Really? That piece of fluff? You liked it?"

He shook his head. "Heavens, no. A movie needn't be enjoyable to provoke thought, particularly in an active mind."

She chuckled and cocked her head. "Okay then, tell me. What thoughts did it provoke?"

He turned to face forward and sat upright. "It occurs to me that, though the movie serves as a cautionary tale of casual physical intimacy, the downfall of their arrangement was a matter of rather particular circumstance. Jamie's desire to date, her failed attempts at doing so, the distance between them allowing for a sense of longing without a reminder of the realities of their relationship. The list goes on. The movie is a series of contrived events which lead them from a physical relationship to a romantic one."

"Um, yes. I suppose I agree with that."

He turned to her. "In actuality, many such arrangements work just fine. The friends with benefits paradigm is common and often successful."

She shrugged. "I suppose, but sex often leads to increased attachment. Whatever the circumstances, they often end with one or both parties wanting a relationship."

He nodded. "I agree. Strict boundaries would have to be set, and adhered to. Emergent romantic ideations would need to be dealt with swiftly and harshly."

She laughed. "You're taking this very seriously."

He met her gaze, his look quite seriously. "Yes, I am." Her cheeks flushed again as she averted her gaze. "Is something the matter?"

She shook her head. "No, nothing. It's just, for a moment there…oh, forget it."

"You thought I was suggesting a casual physical relationship between the two of us?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

Her breathing was getting quite shallow. "Well, yes. That's what it sounded like."

Sherlock nodded. "Quite right." She swore her heart skipped a beat. "I think it would be mutually beneficial. Sex would help me to calm my hyperactive mind, and I think you need it." His eyes darted over her. "Ten months. That's quite a while for a woman your age."

She blushed. She didn't want to know how he knew it had been ten months. She simply leaned forward, hands clasped. "Okay, so, let's say you're right." He laughed. "If you're right," she continued through clenched teeth, "how do we proceed?"

Sherlock considered. "It is obvious that your feelings towards me have changed these past three weeks. Living with me has taught you that I would be a terrible romantic partner. I know I am a terrible romantic partner, and do not desire such a connection. Our emotions ought to be self-regulating."

She nodded. He was right. Though she'd once desired that of him, she didn't any longer. He was a terrible flatmate.

"Okay then," she concluded, clapping her hands. "Friends with benefits?"

He smiled and nodded. "Friends with benefits."

For a while after that, not much happened. They both sat there, aware that they had complete permission to touch each other but not sure how to start. Molly's mind was still swimming with doubts, while Sherlock's mind was suddenly paralysed by inexperience. It had been more than seven years since he'd had sex.

Finally, pushing through the doubt, Molly reached over and slid her hand onto Sherlock's thigh. He smiled and looked over to her. Her eyes seemed to be asking if she could go further. In response, he moved his thigh closer to her.

Molly grinned as she moved in, brushing her lips against Sherlock's, slowly, achingly. Her hand moved up the inside on his thigh, stopping short of his crotch. He groaned softly, his head moving forward. He parted his lips slowly, and Molly responded in kind. He thrust up towards her softly, the bulge in his trousers rubbing against her wrist.

Molly moved up onto her knees and slid her tongue into his mouth, her hair falling around his face. She turned her hand and gripped his cock through his trousers. He shuddered beneath her as she began moving her hand along it.

Molly pulled back and smiled cheekily down at him. Both hands now went to his trousers, working to undo them. Sherlock closed his eyes and rested his head back on the lounge, mouth hanging slightly open. Finally, she managed to get his trousers undone, and with his help, she wiggled them down onto the floor.

She moved back down, kissing him deeply as her hand slipped into his underwear, gripping his cock. It was an average length, but quite thick, and already very hard. He moaned as she started pumping, hand rising and falling along the shaft, maximum pressure at the base and a light swivel at the tip, pulling his foreskin up. He began thrusting his hips up to meet her hand, and she could feel her hand getting wet with precum.

This continued for several minutes until she rose up onto her knees. Sherlock seemed mildly disappointed until she turned, got off the lounge, and then knelt down between his legs. She tugged his underwear down and pulled it, along with his trousers, off his feet, allowing him to spread his legs further to accommodate her.

"Oh, lord," Sherlock muttered as Molly brushed her hair behind her ears, then lowered her head towards his cock. Her tongue flicked across the tip, lapping up the drop of precum hanging from it.

She gripped the shaft and moved it gently up towards his belly, her head moving down to his balls. She licked them lightly at first, then popped them into her mouth one at a time, sucking softly. She moved up and licked her way slowly up his shaft. His breathing was heavy as she flicked her tongue over his frenulum, then she moved her head up and took the head of his cock into her mouth.

He emitted a deep groan as she lowered her head onto his cock. She worked her head up and down, slower at the top, faster at the bottom. Soon she had a steady rhythm up. Sherlock's hands moved to the back of her head and his fingers tangled in her hair, guiding her head gently as it bobbed up and down. She looked up at him, eyes wide and innocent, her lips stretched around his thick shaft.

"Jesus, Molly, that's amazing," he murmured. She smiled and looked down down. She brought her hand up and started gently massaging his balls. His breathing was getting heavier and heavier, his precum thicker and more frequent. "God, Molly, I'm going to cum soon."

At these words, she picked up the pace, taking as much of him into her mouth as she could. His grip on the back of her head tightened, and he was now thrusting up into her mouth. She focused on a fast, steady rhythm, determined now.

Suddenly, Sherlock stiffened, and his breathing nearly stopped. Half a second later, Molly felt his cock jolt in her mouth, and suddenly she could taste his cum. Sherlock took staggered breaths as he came into her mouth, and she did her best to swallow it as quickly as it came. It was obvious it had been a while for him.

Finally, it was over. Sherlock fell back on the lounge, his cock twitched feebly, but nothing more was forthcoming. As it softened, she let it fall from her mouth, and ran her hands up his thighs. She then raised herself up and sat down next to him.

Sherlock's eyes were still closed, his breathing just starting to calm down. He looked over at her and smiled.

"It stopped."

* * *

Sherlock was quite spent after his blowjob. They agreed not to share a bed together, to maintain their distance. Molly brushed her teeth and went to bed with a smile on her face, the image of Sherlock's eyes locked on hers as she pleasured him frozen in her mind.

She awoke the next morning extremely wet. Images flashed through her mind from the dream. It was one of the most satisfying sex dreams she'd had in a long while.

She pulled on a robe and slippers and moved out to the kitchen, yawning. Sherlock was already awake, of course, and brewing some tea. She accepted a cup from him gratefully and stood in the kitchen, leaning against the bench.

The silence was palpable. They smiled at each other, awkward. Finally, Sherlock placed his mug down and turned to her.

"Are you regretting the decision we made last night?"

She was a little surprised. "Umm, no. No, of course not."

He tilted his head. "You're sure? I need to be certain you wish to proceed."

She placed her mug down and crossed her arms. "I assure you, I don't regret it. I was just worried you might."

He nodded. "Yes, makes perfect sense. So, we're still in agreement?"

"Yes, Sherlock. We're still in agreement."

"Thank god." He quickly moved towards her, and in one smooth motion, slipped his right hand behind her head and his left to the small of her back, pressing his lips into hers hungrily. She was taken aback, but was soon reciprocating with full force. He was all hands and lips and teeth this morning. He sucked her neck and nibbled her earlobe as his hands wandered along the length of her body. Her hands instinctively went to his curls, out of his way. She pulled his head towards her, moaning loudly.

He finally pulled back, panting, and gave her a wicked little grin. He slipped his hands down behind her thighs and lifted her up onto the bench. He unfastened her robe and let it fall open, exposing her. She fought the instinct to cover up as he stood back and looked her over, taking her all in. She knew he'd be assimilating and retaining more details of her body than any lover before him, and that was a little intimidating.

Sherlock's eyes roamed her body, then he looked up at her with a grin. He moved forward and kissed her neck softly. She instinctively rolled her head to the side to afford him better access, but he was soon moving down. He kissed his way down to her breasts. He hungrily took her nipple into his mouth. She shuddered as his tongue flicked quickly across it, punctuated by soft sucks.

Molly arched her back as he moved from one nipple to the other, sucking and nibbling. He was rough, ravenous. Once again, her suspicion that he'd not had sex in some time surfaced.

After a few minutes at her breasts, he moved on. It seemed as though he wanted to kiss every inch of her as he moved down. She parted her legs further as he approached her crotch. She was soaking by this point. When he got to her navel, his right hand moved up between her legs. She gasped as his fingers touched her lips, and started slowly working their way in. He ran his hand up and down through the folds of her cunt, rubbing her clit.

His head was now at her waist. He moved his hand down and inserted a finger into her, and moved his head down onto her cunt. She moaned loudly as he darted his tongue out, flicking it lightly over her clit. He pushed a second finger into her and began pumping his fingers in and out, curling up every so often and running them over her g-spot.

She was having trouble remaining upright. Her robe was still beneath her ass, and she started rocking back and forth.

"Fuck, Sherlock. Fuck, that feels fantastic. Don't stop." Her grunts and moans could no doubt be heard down the hall. He pushed his head forward and took her clit into his mouth, sucking directly on it. "Jesus, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum!"

She lifted her hips up to his face and released a long, strangled cry as she came. Sherlock pushed his fingers all the way in, gently massaging her g-spot through the height of her orgasm. Her legs were shuddering by his ears as she came in waves.

As the intensity decreased, Sherlock removed his fingers. He planted one last kiss on her and stood up. He leaned in between her legs and slid his tongue into her mouth. She could taste herself on him.

"Feeling better?" he asked, smirking. She could only manage a nod in response.

* * *

"Oh my god! Oh my god! Fuck, yes, right there!"

Sherlock gripped her hips and thrust hard into her. The view of her arse in the air, his cock sliding between her legs, was amazing. He'd never been so hard in his life.

"God, yes, that's amazing," Sherlock grunted, pounding into her as hard as he could.

It was that night. She was having dinner while Sherlock drank his tea when his hand began to roam along her thigh. She responded immediately in kind, and after her meal, they'd barely lasted two minutes until Sherlock was hurriedly, and a little hilariously, trying to pull a condom on.

Molly was kneeling, her chest supported by a pillow, which she was now gripping tightly. The feeling of his cock sliding into her cunt was incredible. He had an amazing sense of rhythm, even now as he was vigorously fucking her.

"Jesus. Molly, I can't-"

"God, yes, cum in me," she cried. She reached between her legs and started rubbing her clit. She wasn't far off herself. They moaned in unison as Sherlock's pace increased, desperate to unload. With one final thrust, he cried out again, and she could feel his cock twitching inside of her, the tip of the condom expanding.

That was enough to send her over the edge. She came hard and fast, her cunt clenching around his cock.

He remained there for a while, his cock softening, then reached down and gripped the base of the condom. He pulled out and removed it, tying off the end, then dropped it in the bin by her bed.

He collapsed on his back next to her. She was resting on her stomach, still recovering.

"God, Molly. That was fantastic," Sherlock panted. She smiled and lifted herself up, then leaned over and kissed him.

"Good for me, too," she said, giggling. "Your musical training paid off."

He smiled and rolled onto his side, draping his arm across her waist. She wiggled over and snuggled up next to him. Exhausted, they both fell asleep quite quickly.

* * *

Sherlock stirred slowly. He felt drowsy. Unusual. He made to turn over, but discovered he was holding something in his arms.

Molly. His memory returned in full. They'd had sex, and then they'd collapsed into bed. He must've dozed off. He glanced over at the clock. 3am. He'd slept for approximately six hours, in Molly's bed, holding her like a lover.

Dammit. Their first rule was not to sleep together. No romantic attachment, and here they were. Sherlock carefully pulled himself free of her and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

It's probably fine, Sherlock. You were both exhausted, you'd each just had your first really good shag in a long while. She probably doesn't even realise you went to bed with her, and if she does, she won't read into it. She's an intelligent woman, and she knows what this is.

He got to his feet and retrieved his clothes. He slowly made his way to the door, and tried his best to exit without making noise. Given his state when he'd fallen asleep, he opted to shower.

He sighed as the warm water hit his chest. Steam rose around him, and he just stood in it for a while, letting his mind empty.

Empty? His mind? His eyes snapped open. What was he thinking? Which facts were he reviewing for plausibility and consistency? Which old crime scene photos were he analysing for new clues? Which dates were he comparing to the coagulation of saliva from recent corpses?

Nothing. None of them. Not a single case was on his mind, though he could think of a dozen of interest. He probed. Yes, the florist. Date of death August 5th, most likely time 10:30pm, in her home, with a blunt instrument. Most likely suspect a customer. August 5th. Obituaries. Edna Carter, died of heart failure six months after suffering a stroke. Survived by a son, Aaron, a frequent customer. Came every Tuesday and Friday, no note of particulars of the order more recently than five months prior to Edna's death, so a recurring order. Aaron's mother walked with a cane, which matches the bruising on the victim's sides.

He'd been attempting to solve that one all day. The information had been there all along, but it had never connected. Now, he'd solved it in three seconds flat. It was hardly his crowning achievement, but when he didn't have a case to focus on, the facts became confused, all vying for his attention. Facts from all those cases rising up, disrupting the forming connections, convincing him that if only he could analyse them enough the answers would come. The ability to pick which facts he'd consider when was marvellous.

He was disturbed by the sound of the door. He turned and pulled back the glass panel. Molly stood there, completely naked.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Just showering."

She nodded. "Ick?"

He chuckled. "Doesn't bother me."

She crossed her arms. A guarded stance. Concerned look. "Look, about last night. I know we agreed not to share a bed. Is it bothering you?"

He shook his head. "No, not at all. I, uh," he cleared his throat. "I'm just concerned. About you. You slept in my arms last night. I'm worried, I suppose. About the issues we discussed."

She nodded. "It's okay, Sherlock. We didn't plan it. We were just exhausted. But, I think," she moved forward, "that physical intimacy doesn't stop at sex."

He smiled. "Indeed."

She grinned and uncrossed her arms. "So, what's say we go back to bed? After a shower, of course."

With that, she stepped into the shower. She closed the door behind her, then turned to him, slipping a hand around his waist, giving his arse a light squeeze. He leaned forward and kissed her, slowly. It was different from their previous kisses. This one had a sense not of heat, but of familiarity. He didn't mind at all.

Molly pulled back and smiled up at him. A genuine, warm, happy smile. He'd rarely seen her wear it, but he didn't ever want to stop looking at it. Though he didn't much object when she turned her back on him and leaned forward against the wall.

* * *

"How long had it been?" Molly asked. She looked up at Sherlock. "Before me, I mean."

Sherlock didn't hesitate in his answer. "Seven years, three months, two weeks, four days."

Molly raised herself up on her elbow, looking at him incredulously. "You're making that up. No one knows how long to the day."

Sherlock shrugged. "I'm good with dates is all. It's only four numbers."

She smiled and ran a hand up his bare chest. "I always thought that sex wouldn't mean much to you. That you'd never bother to memorise it."

He closed his eyes and sighed. "I can see why you'd think that."

She cocked her head to the side. "Are you okay?"

He forced a smile again and ran his hand up her arm to her shoulder. "Yes, of course."

"You're lying." Sherlock hesitated, then nodded. She pulled herself up and sat next to him, cross-legged. "When was the last time you talked about this?"

"I haven't."

She reached out and put her hand over his. "It's been seven years, Sherlock. Maybe it's time you start."

He turned his hand over and laced his fingers through hers, then leaned up and kissed her hand. "Why do you seem to care so much about me?" He looked back to her, and there was pain in his eyes. "I've been nothing but unkind to you. Rude, demanding, demeaning. Why do you want to help me?"

She dropped her head slightly. Tough question. And the last thing she wanted to mention was her crush on him. She didn't want to scare him away now.

"I believe, I have to believe, that the way you treat people is not really you. It's how you protect yourself. You talk a big game, talk of puzzles, but I know you care. You could be a brilliant criminal, you know. But you're a detective instead. You save people. You care, I know it, and you never let anyone in. I suppose I want to know the man who could be so hurt that he has to put up that kind of a wall yet still stands on the side of good." She looked into his eyes, her own beginning to tear. "I believe there's no finer man."

A tear rolled down Sherlock's cheek as he beamed up at her. He let go of her hand, and ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. "Oh, Molly. I fear I've gotten the better end of this bargain."

She slapped his stomach playfully. "None of that. I know better. You put way too much effort into making people think you're not worth their affections for it to be true." She patted her thigh. "Now, we talk."

He nodded, and shifted over, lying on his back with his head resting on her thigh. She brushed the hair from his forehead as he relaxed.

"Now," she began. "Seven years ago. Who was she?"

"He," Sherlock corrected. "His name was Stephen."

"How did you meet?"

"I was on a case. I consulted him for a translation. Ancient Germanic. He was a scholar, brilliant, really. His grasp of languages was unparalleled, but he had no interest in academic glory. For him, it was all about the work. A good translation was the most satisfying feeling for him. He craved it."

She smiled. "I can see why he'd have appealed to you."

He nodded. "Yes, the fascination was immediate. I consulted him on a number of other cases. Often when I didn't need to. Truth is, I wanted to see him.

"We were working late one night together. I'd leaned over his shoulder to examine his work. I guess I got too close. He was perceptive, he knew why I was coming to see him. He kissed me." A smile flickered across his face.

"We dated. For three years, we dated. We moved in together. I thought we'd one day marry." His face twisted as he tried to hold back his tears. She ran her hand over his forehead.

"Sherlock, it's okay to cry," she whispered. He shook his head. "You've held this in for seven years. Just let your muscles relax and it'll come."

He sobbed loudly, uncontrollably. His breathing was sharp and short. For a minute, he could do little else. Finally, he managed to speak. "He was at home." Sob. "He was halfway through making dinner for me when," another sob. "When they came."

Her face fell. Dear god. "Sherlock, I-"

He sat up and turned, on his knees now, facing her. "They came for me, Molly. They came for me! But me, no, I was working. I was at the lab, when I should have been at home with him!" He was almost screaming, but not at her. He was screaming at himself. "I should've been there! I could've protected him, or I could've died first and they'd have left him alone. Or maybe I shouldn't have been chasing them to begin with! I could've done any of a thousand things differently, and he'd still be alive."

She reached out and placed her hand on his arm. His head fell and tears rolled onto her sheets. She didn't know what to say. She reached under his arm and tugged him gently forward. She pulled him down onto the bed and held him as he sobbed. She stroked his hair and cooed softly.

Over the next ten minutes, he calmed himself. He laid there in her arms, shaking softly. He was afraid. Why? He was afraid of Molly? No, he was afraid for Molly. He'd had feelings for her for some time now: ever since she'd stood up to him at Christmas. It was only now that he felt she was aware of his horrible living habits that he'd been comfortable with this much, but his own feelings were unexpected. And he knew now that hers were returning.

It had been a long time. Seven years, and now he was widely believed to be deceased. Was that enough? Should he ever work again, he could be sure she was safe. Moriarty left a lot of mercenaries behind, in the wind and for hire. He could protect her now. He knew he could. Perhaps he didn't have to fear for her. However, he did owe her the full story.

Finally he lifted himself up on his elbow. "Molly, that's not the end of the story," he said. His expression now was one of shame. "After Stephen's death, I notified the police. I could't cover it up. But I, uh, derailed the investigation." He cleared his throat. "I derailed the investigation, made sure the police were clear, and then I tracked them. One by one, I tracked them. To their hotel rooms, to bars. I know how the police work. I know what investigators look for. I murdered those men, and I covered it up. To this day, no one even knows they're dead."

She nodded. "Except me."

"Yes. I told you because," he considered his next words. "I trust you, Molly."

She smiled down at him and stroked his cheek. "Thank you, Sherlock. For opening up. I think it's good for you."

He nodded. "Yes, I suppose it was. Though it was unpleasant." He took a deep breath. "I understand if you no longer wish to sleep with me. I merely ask that you keep my secret."

She smiled and leaned up to kiss him. "Of course I will, Sherlock." He smiled. "And, yes, I do want to keep sleeping with you."

He leaned down and kissed her slowly. It had felt good to get that off his chest; to open up to someone. He'd not felt this close to someone since his last night with Stephen. And he wanted to be closer.

He reached down and ran his hand along her thigh. She shivered and kissed him harder. She moaned softly as his hand passed up her side, onto her belly.

She placed her hand on his shoulder and pushed him over onto his back, then swung her leg over him without breaking the kiss. His breathing grew heavy as he strained his neck up to meet her.

She broke the kiss and sat up. Pushing back, she could feel him getting hard, but he wasn't quite there yet. She bent down and kissed his chest, licking his nipple. He groaned and arched his back. She pushed back on his cock, running it along her arse. It hardened up pretty quickly.

She leaned down and whispered in his ear, "I want to try something different tonight. How about you?" He smiled broadly and nodded. She leaned over to the side and opened the top drawer. She pulled out a condom and a small tube of lube. She passed the condom to him.

He slipped the condom on carefully as she squirted a small amount of lube onto her fingers. Reaching around, she applied it liberally, pushing a single finger slowly into her arse, wiggling it around. She moaned softly, then applied some more lube to Sherlock's cock. She straddled him once more, and placed her left hand on his chest. With her right hand, she guided Sherlock's cock to her arse. God, that's it.

She lowered herself slowly down onto his cock. She winced slightly. It'd been a while. Slowly, cautiously, she inched him in. He was about two inches into her when she started rocking back and forth, taking a little bit more of him each time. Sherlock's chest rose and fell slowly, his mouth open, eyes closed. Finally, with one last thrust, Molly had taken his whole cock inside her.

She leaned down and kissed him softly. He moaned as she ground herself on him. Their lips parted.

"God, Molly. I love you."

Molly sat up slightly, staring into his eyes. He seemed embarrassed. He hadn't meant to say that.

"Really?"

He gulped nervously. "Yes, I do. I'm sorry."

He made to sit up, but Molly placed her hand on his chest and eased him back down. She leaned in slowly, and just before their lips met, she whispered, "I love you Sherlock."

They seemed to melt into one another at that point. Sherlock's hands moved up her sides and pulled her down towards him. Their tongues slid together. Each of their bodies relaxed, and for a moment, it seemed they were the only two people in the world.

Finally, Molly pulled herself up. She grinned down at Sherlock and lifted herself up. She sat up straight, his whole cock inside her arse, the angle sublime, then pulled herself up, then back down. Hard, slow, and deep. They both moaned. Sherlock watched her tits bounce as she fucked him, her pace increasing.

"Fuck me, Sherlock," Molly commanded. He lifted his knees up behind her and started thrusting up to meet her. She gasped and nodded. "Fuck, yes, that's it." Sherlock slid his hands up her thighs to her hips. "Fuck. Harder, Sherlock, please."

Sherlock reached up and wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her down onto him. He shifted down slightly, and then started fucking her from beneath, thrusting up into her hard and fast. She kissed his neck feverishly, stopping every few seconds to gasp.

"God, Molly, this is amazing." She nodded in agreement. "I'm not sure I can…can I?" She nodded again. His hips lifted clear off the bed as he fucked her. She grunted loudly, eyes rolling back.

"Oh my god, Sherlock. Fuck me. Fill me. Cum in my arse, Sherlock. Please, cum in me." She cried out as she came, her body shaking. A few more hard thrusts and Sherlock was there with her. His hips fell to the bed and she pushed down, trying to preserve the feeling as long as possible.

Finally, she collapsed forward, huddled on top of him. They both took a few minutes to recover until Molly lifted herself up, and then rolled to the side. Sherlock swiftly disposed of the condom, then rolled over onto his side, an arm over her chest. Molly placed her arm around his shoulders, and they both drifted off, emotionally and physically drained.

* * *

Sherlock awoke slowly the next morning. It took him a moment to notice that two things were wrong. First, Molly was gone. Second, it was bright.

Suddenly, he was sitting in the bed. Molly's bed. That much is right. But that light? What is it? Looking around, it was coming from the window. The sun? He looked over at the clock. It was 9am. Sherlock had not slept until 9am in years. He wasn't accustomed to it. He hurriedly got himself out of bed and pulled on his trousers. Then he left the room.

Molly was in the kitchen, making pancakes. He felt groggy. She smiled at him as he entered, then turned down the heat on the stove. Turning around, she leaned back against the counter.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," she greeted him, grinning.

"Morning, Snow White." She looked a little confused. "Sorry. I was going for fairest of them all. I'm, uh, a little out of practise."

She giggled. "It's fine. Maybe should find a better pet name, though." She grew suddenly more serious. "Listen, about last night. I know you were kind of high on emotion. What you said…it's okay if you didn't mean it."

He leaned back against the fridge. "You said it back."

She seemed embarrassed. "Yes, I did. It didn't occur to me at the time that you might not have been thinking clearly."

He nodded. "I wasn't. But, that doesn't mean it isn't true." He moved over to her and slipped his arms around her waist, resting his forehead against hers. "Had I been in a normal frame of mind, I wouldn't have said it. But I'd still feel it. And now that it's been said, I don't want to take it back."

She pulled back and looked into his eyes. "I don't want to either. But this isn't what we talked about. We were going to be friends with benefits." She shook her head. "What are we now?"

Sherlock considered this. "I would say we are complicated, and beautiful. And I don't know what word describes this, but I do know that I don't ever want to be without you, Molly Hooper."

Their lips met once more. Neither of them cared when the pancakes burned.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written from a prompt given by Tumblr user sherlocks-salvation, known here as savagealias. Thank you very much for the delightful prompt. It was a pleasure to write.


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